


I Walk With Heroes

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-05
Updated: 2007-02-05
Packaged: 2019-01-19 03:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12402147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: My name is Neville Longbottom, and I walk with heroes.





	I Walk With Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

Disclaimer: Characters belong to JK Rowling. I'd rather not get sued.

**I Walk With Heroes**

When I was little, I never thought of myself as special. I was never the smartest kid in class; I never was very talented with magic; nothing of that sort. In fact, my grandmother thought I was the biggest Squib there ever was. And after a while, after the days where my grandmother was trying to make me do something… _magical._ After the days where she would throw me out the window to see if I’d fly to safety, only just to bounce off the pavement and roll to the other side of the street, I started to believe her. I started to believe that I really _was_ a Squib, and that I’d _never_ be accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I would have been devastated.

I wanted to make my grandmother proud; I wanted to make my other magical friends that live on my street proud. But most of all, I wanted to make my parents proud.

I barely know them, really. They’re at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, on the fourth floor; Spell Damage. Most specifically, they’re staying in the Janus Thickey Ward. The long-term resident ward. But you don’t need to know that.

The point is I barely know them. The thing I like to call _The Incident_ happened when I was just a baby. Long story short, they were tortured by an awful spell called the Cruciatus curse. Nasty curse, very illegal. Of course, Death Eaters don’t really care if the curse they’re using is illegal or not. In fact, the more illegal, the better.

One of the many things you need to watch out for with Death Eaters.

Anyway, this curse was bad. Still is, in fact. This curse drove my parents crazy. Literally insane. When I was old enough to understand, when I was old enough to ask my grandmother who my parents were, I was old enough to visit them. I remember that day pretty well.

I was seven. Old enough to understand that my parents were sick, young enough to be so naïve about the whole thing; so naïve that I kept asking my grandmother if they would get out soon and come home. She’d never answer.

______________________________

When I first walked into the hospital it smelled like thick dust that would normally accumulate on books in libraries. The smell was so strong my nose wrinkled and I tried to refrain from coughing. The sound alone would travel a far way, for the lobby of the hospital was surprisingly bare of visitors. Only a few witches were standing in a circle near the front desk, staring at the floor guide on the wall behind the desk. After conversing with each other for a few moments, they fled, rather quickly, through a set of double doors and disappeared.

My grandmother grabbed my hand rather forcibly and dragged me to the desk, where a young witch with big blonde hair was sitting. She was painting her nails while reading the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. My grandmother hmphed, rolling her eyes in the process. She grasped my hand tighter.

“Excuse me,” my grandmother snapped coldly, as though she was taking her annoyance of not being as young and beautiful as the desk clerk out on the desk clerk herself. “We’re here to see Frank and Alice Longbottom.”

The blonde witch waited a few more seconds, as though to purposefully annoy my grandmother, before closing the magazine and glaring at her. “What’s wrong with ‘em?”

“Excuse me?” my grandmother sputtered, her face contorting from annoyance to shock, as though the woman insulted her.

“Why are they _here?_ ” she responded slowly.

“I – uh… Well, that is, they’re here because –“

“They were hurt by bad people.” 

The desk clerk stood up rather quickly to see who made that last comment. She bent over the desk and looked at me strangely. My grandmother did the same. She squeezed my hand softly.

“My grandmother said that bad people put a curse on them. They were hurt by this bad curse and that’s why they can’t come home.”

The blonde woman gave me a look of sympathy, a look I know rather well, and sat back down in her chair. She grabbed a large white book and flipped through the pages, muttering to herself, “Longbottom… Longbottom…”

“Ah! Here it is. Longbottom, Frank and Alice. They’re on the fourth floor, Spell Damage. Talk to the desk clerk up there and she’ll give you more information.”

“Thank you,” my grandmother replied curtly. She grabbed my arm this time and guided me towards the double doors that the group of witches disappeared through earlier. Inside were flights of stairs. 

After dragging ourselves up four flights, with my grandmother muttering to herself about how the hospital should have lifts, we made it to the next desk clerk. This one had jet-black hair, as long as she was tall, with olive skin and dark eyes. She wasn’t reading a magazine.

“Excuse me, but could you tell us which ward Frank and Alice Longbottom are currently staying in?” My grandmother was nicer to this woman, maybe because she wasn’t reading _Witch Weekly._

“Of course, the Longbottoms. They’re in the Janus Thickey Ward.” At this my grandmother’s eyes widened slightly. I never understood why until later. “You came on a good day, Ms….?”

“Longbottom. I’m Frank’s mother.”

“Ms. Longbottom, like I said, you came on a good day. They’re doing well. Very calm this morning. We – er – had an incident last night. Mrs. Longbottom was rather fussy. We had to restrain her. But don’t you worry,” she added hastily, probably after seeing the look on my face. “She’s doing well. Both of them are.” _They’re doing well_ seems to be a phrase the witch liked to say today.

After the desk clerk and my grandmother talked in hushed tones, she led us down the Spell Damage ward, where we passed a lot of occupied rooms. One of the rooms held a man that couldn’t stop making a loud screeching noise, which I recognized as a noise a dolphin would make. Another room held a woman who couldn’t stop talking in limericks.

At the end of the hall we came upon a set of double doors, with the words **Janus Thickey Ward** above them. The woman took out her wand from the folds of her robes and pointed it at the doors.

_“Alohamora,”_ She muttered quietly, and the doors creaked open. Pushing them aside, she gestured for us to follow her into a large room filled with beds and the occupant’s personal effects surrounding them. Pictures that little children drew were on a few headboards and walls surrounding the beds. A few plants were also on some of the bed tables. 

Stepping further into the room, I glanced around, trying to find my parents. It took me a few moments to realize that I don’t know what my parents look like. I’ve only seen pictures soon after I found out about them, but they were older pictures. Pictures of before I was born and even when they themselves were in Hogwarts. One picture had my parents with another couple at school. A couple that wore Gryffindor robes like my parents. The unfamiliar girl had bright red hair and even brighter green eyes, and the boy had unruly jet black hair. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses was perched on his nose. The quartet looked happy. That’s why I liked that picture the best.

“This way,” the woman whispered, guiding us toward a pair of beds that were occupied. The two occupants were lying rather still, on top of the sheets that were still tucked nicely under the mattress. When we got closer, they both turned their heads toward our direction. And before I knew it, I was looking at my parents for the first time.

My grandmother immediately went to my father’s side, talking and whispering soothing words, so as not to upset him. I stayed where I was, looking at them both and hardly believing that these people were my parents.

“Neville, sweetie…” My grandmother slowly waved me to come to her, to my father. I walked slowly.

When I was standing beside him, my grandmother smiled and turned back to him. “Frank, this is Neville, your son. Do you remember Neville, honey?”

My father stared at me for several seconds; several seconds that felt like an eternity. When he broke our gaze, he turned to my grandmother and shook his head violently.

“No! Oh sweetie, it’s okay. Shhh…” She grabbed his head softly to make him stop shaking. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Frank.”

But to me, it wasn’t okay.

I stood by my grandmother for a while longer, just to be there for her, when I heard something. 

“—ville?”

I thought I was hearing things so I didn’t respond. But it came again, and it was stronger.

“Neville?”

I turned.

My mother was looking at me. _At me._ And she was smiling softly. “Neville?”

I immediately started crying and manage to choke out a soft “yes”.

I ran to her side and grabbed her hand. Squeezing it tight I started talking to her. “It’s me, mum. It’s Neville.”

She stopped smiling and started staring at me, like my father did. I shook my head and repeated what I said. “It’s _me,_ mum! Neville!”

At this she smiled again. I tried to make her hold on.

“I miss you. I miss you even though I barely know you. But from now on I’m going to visit you, okay? I’ll visit and we can talk about things. And when I go to Hogwarts we can talk about all the things I learned there, okay?”

She didn’t respond.

“Okay, mum? I promise I’ll visit.”

Still she didn’t answer. Instead she grabbed my hand and turned it palm up. Pressing something into it, she made me grasp my fingers around it and hold it tight, as though to never let go. When she released my hand she said one word.

“Promise.”

After we left the ward, I finally opened my hand to reveal a small Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper.

______________________________

My grandmother told me shortly after that the details of why they were there. About who did it to them; a Death Eater by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange. A very strong and evil Death Eater, one of You-Know-Who’s most faithful. About why she did that to them; they were Aurors. Very good at their job and very respected and well-liked in the Wizarding community. She also told me they were in a secret society to help take down You-Know-Who. And how that’s maybe why they were tortured. But she didn’t tell me anything else about it, and told me to never say anything to anyone about it. She also told me they were heroes.

I never understood what she meant by that. Not until now, at least. I never understood how my parents could be heroes when they’re sitting all alone in St. Mungo’s. But they’re not heroes for where they are now; they’re heroes for what they did _before_ they went there. They’re heroes for what they stood for; the good of wizard-kind. The good of everyone. They risked their lives; they fought for everyone’s freedom, and they’ll always be remembered for that.

I always thought I was ordinary, I never thought I was good at anything, could _be_ anything.

But tonight, while I’m lying here in the hospital wing after a gruesome fight at the Ministry of Magic, with a broken nose and a thousand other bumps and bruises, I realize that I _am_ something now. I helped Harry Potter fight Death Eaters. Harry Potter, the hero of our generation. I fought with him and I fought for him. Me and the other occupants of this hospital wing. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sleeping soundly to my right, Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood sleeping soundly to my left. They’re heroes, along with Harry Potter, and along with me.

My name is Neville Longbottom, and I walk with heroes. 

 


End file.
